Assassin's Creed: Black Flag
Page 81
“It’s Wilson,” I shouted in my best approximation of the dead enforcer as I clambered up the ladder. A face appeared over the gunwale to greet me and I planted my fist in it, dragged him over the rail and hurled him to the stone below. His screams alerted a second man who came running to what he assumed was the scene of an accident—until he saw me, and the blade, which gleamed in the moonlight before I swept it back-handed across his throat.
Ignoring the last two sentries, I ran up the deck towards the captain’s cabin, peered through the window and was treated to the sight of Matthew Hague, an older and worried Matthew Hague by the looks of things, standing away from a table. With him was his draughtsman.
With a glance to see the two sentries lumbering up the deck towards me, I dragged open the door of the cabin.
“You,” I said to the draughtsman.
Hague dropped a goblet he’d been holding. They both goggled at me.
I risked another glance back at the sentries. I cursed, slammed the cabin door shut, wedged it and turned to meet the two guards.
They could have escaped, I told myself as they died. It was their choice to fight me. To my port the hatches of the Jackdaw’s gun-deck were opening and the muzzles of guns appeared. Good lads. I saw men on deck brandishing muskets and swords. Somebody shouted, “You need a hand, Cap’n?”
No, I didn’t. I turned back to the cabin door, pulled the wedge free and snatched open the door. “Right, last chance,” I ordered the draughtsman, who practically threw himself at me.
“Archer,” wailed Hague, but neither of us were listening as I hauled Archer out of the cabin and jammed it shut behind him, Hague imprisoned now.
“Get off the ship,” I barked at Archer, who needed no further invitation, scrabbling for the stern.
Now I could hear the marching feet of soldiers as they approached the harbour wall.
“Tar!” I appealed to my crew on the other deck. “Barrels of tar and quick about it.”
One was tossed to me from the Jackdaw and I attacked it, opened it, spread it by the door of the cabin.
“Please . . .” I could hear Hague from inside. He was thumping on the wedged-shut door. “Please . . .”
I was deaf to him. The marching was closer now And I heard the clatter of horse hooves, the rumble of cart wheels. I glanced to the harbour wall, expecting to see the tops of their bayonets as I emptied a second barrel of tar on the deck.
Would it be enough? It would have to do.
Now I saw them. The muskets of the soldiers as they appeared silhouetted along the top of the harbour wall. At the same time they saw me, pulled the muskets from their shoulders and took aim. By my side the crew of the Jackdaw did the same as I snatched up a torch and leapt to the rat-lines, climbing to a point where I could let go of the torch, dive off the rigging and escape the flames.
If the muskets didn’t get me first, that was.
Then came the command.
“Hold your fire!”
SEVENTY-TWO
The order came from a carriage that had pulled up on the harbour, its door opening before it even finished drawing to a halt.
Out skipped two men: one, dressed like a footman, who arranged steps for the second man, a tall, lean gentleman who wore smart clothes.
A third man appeared. He was a portly gentleman in a long white wig, frilled shirt and fine satin jacket and breeches. A man who looked as though he’d enjoyed many a lunch in his time, and many a glass of port and brandy to go with those many lunches.
The footman and the tall man gaped as they became aware of the many guns pointing in their direction. By accident or design, they’d placed themselves in the middle: the guns of the soldiers on one side, the carriage-guns and muskets of the Jackdaw on the other, and me on the rigging, ready with a flaming torch to drop to the deck below.
The portly gentleman moved his mouth as though exercising it in readiness to speak. He laced his hands across his chest, rocked back on his heels, and called up to me, “Do I have the pleasure of addressing Captain Edward Kenway?”
“And who might you be?” I called back.
That produced a shudder of amusement from the soldiers on the harbour wall.
The portly man smiled.
“You’ve been away a long time, Captain Kenway.”
I agreed I had.
His lips smacked and rearranged themselves into a smile. “Then you are forgiven for not knowing who I am. I think, however, that you will know my name. It is Walpole. Sir Robert Walpole. I am the First Lord of the Treasury, Chancellor of the Exchequer and Leader of the House of Commons.”
I was thinking what an impressive title that was, and how he must be one of the most powerful men in the land when . . . Walpole. It couldn’t be.
But he was nodding. “Yes, indeed, Captain Kenway. Duncan Walpole, the man whose life and identity you took as your own, was my cousin.”
I felt myself tense even more. What game was he playing? Who was the tall man by his side? It struck me that he had a family resemblance to Matthew Hague. Was this his father, Sir Aubrey Hague?
Walpole was waving a reassuring hand. “It is quite all right. Not only was my cousin involved in affairs I keep at a distance, but he was a treacherous man, a man blessed, I’m afraid, with few principles. A man prepared to sell the secrets of those who trusted him to the highest bidder. I was ashamed to see him bear the Walpole name. I think perhaps in many ways you have done my family a good turn.”
“I see,” I called, “and that’s why you’re here, is it? To thank me for killing your cousin?”
“Oh no, not at all.”
“Then to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? As you can see, I have other matters to attend to.”
The torch grumbled as I waved it for effect. From the wedged cabin of the Charlotte came a banging sound as Hague tried to get free. Otherwise, there was a tense hush as the soldiers and the sailors peered at one another along the barrels of their weapons, both sets of men awaiting their orders.
“Well, Captain Kenway, it’s exactly those matters that exercise us, I’m afraid,” called Walpole, “for I cannot allow you to continue on your present course of action. As a matter of fact, I’m going to have to ask you to toss the torch in the sea and come down from there right away. Or, alas, I shall have the men shoot you.”
I chortled. “You shoot me and my men return fire, Sir Robert. I fear even you yourself might get caught in the cross fire. Not to mention your friend—Sir Aubrey Hague, is it?”
“It is indeed, sir,” said the tall man stepping forward. “I come to plead clemency for my son.”
Ignoring the last two sentries, I ran up the deck towards the captain’s cabin, peered through the window and was treated to the sight of Matthew Hague, an older and worried Matthew Hague by the looks of things, standing away from a table. With him was his draughtsman.
With a glance to see the two sentries lumbering up the deck towards me, I dragged open the door of the cabin.
“You,” I said to the draughtsman.
Hague dropped a goblet he’d been holding. They both goggled at me.
I risked another glance back at the sentries. I cursed, slammed the cabin door shut, wedged it and turned to meet the two guards.
They could have escaped, I told myself as they died. It was their choice to fight me. To my port the hatches of the Jackdaw’s gun-deck were opening and the muzzles of guns appeared. Good lads. I saw men on deck brandishing muskets and swords. Somebody shouted, “You need a hand, Cap’n?”
No, I didn’t. I turned back to the cabin door, pulled the wedge free and snatched open the door. “Right, last chance,” I ordered the draughtsman, who practically threw himself at me.
“Archer,” wailed Hague, but neither of us were listening as I hauled Archer out of the cabin and jammed it shut behind him, Hague imprisoned now.
“Get off the ship,” I barked at Archer, who needed no further invitation, scrabbling for the stern.
Now I could hear the marching feet of soldiers as they approached the harbour wall.
“Tar!” I appealed to my crew on the other deck. “Barrels of tar and quick about it.”
One was tossed to me from the Jackdaw and I attacked it, opened it, spread it by the door of the cabin.
“Please . . .” I could hear Hague from inside. He was thumping on the wedged-shut door. “Please . . .”
I was deaf to him. The marching was closer now And I heard the clatter of horse hooves, the rumble of cart wheels. I glanced to the harbour wall, expecting to see the tops of their bayonets as I emptied a second barrel of tar on the deck.
Would it be enough? It would have to do.
Now I saw them. The muskets of the soldiers as they appeared silhouetted along the top of the harbour wall. At the same time they saw me, pulled the muskets from their shoulders and took aim. By my side the crew of the Jackdaw did the same as I snatched up a torch and leapt to the rat-lines, climbing to a point where I could let go of the torch, dive off the rigging and escape the flames.
If the muskets didn’t get me first, that was.
Then came the command.
“Hold your fire!”
SEVENTY-TWO
The order came from a carriage that had pulled up on the harbour, its door opening before it even finished drawing to a halt.
Out skipped two men: one, dressed like a footman, who arranged steps for the second man, a tall, lean gentleman who wore smart clothes.
A third man appeared. He was a portly gentleman in a long white wig, frilled shirt and fine satin jacket and breeches. A man who looked as though he’d enjoyed many a lunch in his time, and many a glass of port and brandy to go with those many lunches.
The footman and the tall man gaped as they became aware of the many guns pointing in their direction. By accident or design, they’d placed themselves in the middle: the guns of the soldiers on one side, the carriage-guns and muskets of the Jackdaw on the other, and me on the rigging, ready with a flaming torch to drop to the deck below.
The portly gentleman moved his mouth as though exercising it in readiness to speak. He laced his hands across his chest, rocked back on his heels, and called up to me, “Do I have the pleasure of addressing Captain Edward Kenway?”
“And who might you be?” I called back.
That produced a shudder of amusement from the soldiers on the harbour wall.
The portly man smiled.
“You’ve been away a long time, Captain Kenway.”
I agreed I had.
His lips smacked and rearranged themselves into a smile. “Then you are forgiven for not knowing who I am. I think, however, that you will know my name. It is Walpole. Sir Robert Walpole. I am the First Lord of the Treasury, Chancellor of the Exchequer and Leader of the House of Commons.”
I was thinking what an impressive title that was, and how he must be one of the most powerful men in the land when . . . Walpole. It couldn’t be.
But he was nodding. “Yes, indeed, Captain Kenway. Duncan Walpole, the man whose life and identity you took as your own, was my cousin.”
I felt myself tense even more. What game was he playing? Who was the tall man by his side? It struck me that he had a family resemblance to Matthew Hague. Was this his father, Sir Aubrey Hague?
Walpole was waving a reassuring hand. “It is quite all right. Not only was my cousin involved in affairs I keep at a distance, but he was a treacherous man, a man blessed, I’m afraid, with few principles. A man prepared to sell the secrets of those who trusted him to the highest bidder. I was ashamed to see him bear the Walpole name. I think perhaps in many ways you have done my family a good turn.”
“I see,” I called, “and that’s why you’re here, is it? To thank me for killing your cousin?”
“Oh no, not at all.”
“Then to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? As you can see, I have other matters to attend to.”
The torch grumbled as I waved it for effect. From the wedged cabin of the Charlotte came a banging sound as Hague tried to get free. Otherwise, there was a tense hush as the soldiers and the sailors peered at one another along the barrels of their weapons, both sets of men awaiting their orders.
“Well, Captain Kenway, it’s exactly those matters that exercise us, I’m afraid,” called Walpole, “for I cannot allow you to continue on your present course of action. As a matter of fact, I’m going to have to ask you to toss the torch in the sea and come down from there right away. Or, alas, I shall have the men shoot you.”
I chortled. “You shoot me and my men return fire, Sir Robert. I fear even you yourself might get caught in the cross fire. Not to mention your friend—Sir Aubrey Hague, is it?”
“It is indeed, sir,” said the tall man stepping forward. “I come to plead clemency for my son.”
